


an angel through the eyes of a kitten

by C-chan (1001paperboxes)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, Minor Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Retrospective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001paperboxes/pseuds/C-chan
Summary: When Yuri Plisetsky was four years old, Victor Nikiforov was an angel. At ten, he was an idol; at twelve, a goal.With each change in Yuri's life, Victor Nikiforov took on new meanings, new roles.





	an angel through the eyes of a kitten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nollaun Kkachi (More_of_This)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_of_This/gifts).



When Yuri Plisetsky was four years old, Victor Nikiforov was an angel.

An otherworldly figure danced to beautiful music on a sheet of ice so smooth it looked like glass. He twirled endlessly, but he didn't fall down. He jumped and spun in midair, and landed on one foot to the cheers of the crowd. His outfit sparkled like nothing Yuri had ever seen before, and his long hair whirled around him, framing his beautiful features.

Eventually, the dance came to an end, and a crown of blue roses was placed on his head like a halo.

He explained all this to Mama, but she told him he wasn't an angel; not really. He was a figure skater, and his name was Victor Nikiforov.

Yuri wasn't fooled, though. The person he'd just seen was an angel who could dance magic. And one day, Yuri would be just like him.

* * *

When Yuri Plisetsky was ten years old, Victor Nikiforov was an idol.

At twenty-two, Victor Nikiforov had long since taken the senior skating division by storm. The man had been atop the men's skating world for over half a decade. Yuri could count on his hands the number of competitions he'd heard of where Victor had not medaled, and more often than not the medal's colour was gold. He was reigning Russian Champion and Olympic Champion, silver medalist at the past December's Grand Prix Final and January's Europeans, and bronze medalist at the recent World Championship. His face graced magazine covers and ads each winter, and his heart-shaped smile was said to have won the love of women across all of Russia, if not the world.

Victor was no longer the angel that Yuri remembered: his hair had been long since cut short, and he had swapped out the ethereal bodysuits for a more traditionally masculine silhouette. His skating style had likewise matured into something more refined than angelic, but no less captivating for it.

Yuri, too, had grown up since he first discovered figure skating. He was by far and away the top novice skater in Moscow if not the whole of Russia, and it was clear that he had the potential to go far. But to get there, he needed the best coaches, the best programs, and the best opportunities.

Victor Nikiforov trained in St. Petersburg under Yakov Feltsman.

Yakov Feltsman had just offered Yuri a chance to train with him as well.

Moving away from his grandfather would not be easy. After all, Grandpa was the only family he had. (Or at least the only family that mattered, since he hardly saw Mama anymore and couldn't even remember Papa's face.) But he would be strong. He would be brave. And he would prove himself worthy of every opportunity and make his grandfather and all of Russia proud.

Victor Nikiforov was the world's best skater, and the pride of Russia. And under the exact same training, in the exact same place, Yuri Plisetsky was sure that he could become the same.

* * *

When Yuri Plisetsky was twelve years old, Victor Nikiforov was a goal.

Next year, he would be the youngest in a pool of junior skaters, and be afforded a chance to get used to the level of media attention that came with high-level international competition. Next year, he'd be able to take on the Grand Prix, the Russian Nationals, the World Championships. And maybe the titles wouldn't mean as much as they would be in a few more years, when he'd moved up to the senior competitions, but it was a step forward. It was a step in the right direction.

By comparison, the novice competitions were too easy and too boring. As one of the oldest competitors, he was clearly superior in what his body could do, and his training was already molding him into one of the greatest skaters of his generation. Already, he was hearing whispers comparing him to Victor from both inside the rink and from the international skating world. Part of him resented being stuck in another man's shadow, but part of him wanted to puff out his chest in pride: to be compared to Victor was to be successful in chasing his dreams to be the best.

Of course, at twelve, things weren't always easy. He'd gone through another growth spurt that year, and that meant extra training to make sure he could still do his jumps; that he wasn't overbalancing or not taking his new height and weight into account. But with practice, he was not just able to stay strong, he was able to do more. His doubles became triples, and even that didn't seem enough.

Maybe that's why he decided to attempt his first quad in national competition, in front of what little media their level of skating afforded despite the young age. He'd be the youngest to complete such a jump. All eyes would be on him, just like how all eyes were always on Victor Nikiforov.

Yakov blew a gasket, but that was to be expected. Yakov always got grumpy when Yuri didn't do everything right, and there was always room for improvement; always ways to be more like the ideal. Still, if the excited whispers around the rink were anything to go by, the gamble had paid off. He'd set a precedent and marked himself as someone to watch; a true prodigy.

And, just as importantly, he caught the eye of Victor Nikiforov himself.

Victor smiled, encouraged him, and laid a bet that he could win the Junior World Championships without quads.

Even at twelve, Yuri wasn't one to let such an opportunity pass.

"Fine," he said. "But if I win without quadruple jumps, then choreograph a program just for me!"

Victor laughed, but it was a joyful noise, and he reached a hand out to shake Yuri's. "Sure. When you win the World Junior Championship, come see me. I'll give you the best senior debut ever."

The wager meant training hard with his triples, and not attempting another quad until he was at least fifteen; older if he couldn't achieve his goals quickly. By then, his body would be aching for the extra challenge, and Yakov wouldn't be so angry at him for giving in.

It would suck, not pushing himself further in the meantime, but for this chance, it would be worth it. And Yuri Plisetsky was nothing if not driven to succeed, just as Victor was before him.

* * *

When Yuri Plisetsky was fifteen years old, Victor Nikiforov was a piece of shit.

He'd upheld his part of the bargain, twice in fact. At fifteen, he was a two-time World Junior gold medalist, winner of the Junior Grand Prix, and a well-known rising star across the international skating world. He would be the youngest competitor on the senior circuit that year, and already poised to take it by storm. It wasn't just boasting either: he'd been studying the videos of his competitors for years; he knew he could take them all on and win.

Victor Nikiforov was a brilliant choreographer, every bit as much as he was a brilliant skater. The artistry he poured into his programs made them stand out amongst his competitors; always finding a unique sense of musicality that beautifully highlighted his strengths and downplayed his weaknesses.

With Yuri's skills and Victor Nikiforov's choreography, there was no way he could lose.

And then the idiot decided to take a season off—at an age when most competitors were considering retirement, in a year before the Olympics when international rankings mattered most—and up and moved to Japan to become a coach. And not just any coach at that. He moved to Japan to coach the other Yuuri.

Yuri Plisetsky had looked up to him once—someone with the same name, who could use his artistry to convey emotion in a way that even Victor couldn't match, even if his jumps weren't as smooth and his quads were fewer and thus had to be more strategically placed. But then the idiot had to prove as fragile as the ice that forms over a puddle on the first few days of winter, and shatter under the slightest bit of pressure.

It was clear: Victor should have stayed in Russia. Victor should have stayed competitive. Or, at the very least, Victor should have taken the time to be _his_ coach and choreographer like he damn well promised, rather than taking on some Japanese pig who drunkenly seduced him at the Grand Prix Finals and then didn't even qualify for the remainder of the international skating season.

So really, there was only one thing to do.

If Victor was going to be an idiot who broke promises and let down the skating world, Yuri Plisetsky was just going to have to follow him to Japan and drag him back by force.

He was owed the best debut ever, after all.

* * *

When Yuri Plisetsky was sixteen years old, Victor Nikiforov was a brother. 

How had so much changed in a year? It was almost painful to think about: the past year a whirlwind of emotion and activity that more than once had threatened to overwhelm.

Victor and Yuuri had moved to Russia after the Grand Prix Finals; it was the only way for Victor to be with his coach without taking Yuuri away from his own, after all. Somewhere during the relocation process, they asked Yuri to join them. At first he scoffed, but living with Victor and Yuuri was more friendly than living with Lilia, and less lonely than living in the dorms. Moreover, they didn't mind his attempts at cooking, and he had to grudgingly admit that the other Yuuri knew his way around the kitchen as well, even if Victor was completely useless with anything more complicated than tea and toast. They often experimented together, seeing what Japanese dishes they could pull off well with Russian ingredients, and figuring out how to successfully recreate his grandfather's katsudon piroshki.

Victor was making international news once again as he attempted to tackle coaching and competition simultaneously. His efforts appeared to be paying off, at that; while Victor had come second to Yuri in the Russian Nationals (the media called it an upset, but really, Victor was lucky to have placed so high after such a short lead-up to his truncated season), he and Yuuri had managed to snag gold and silver in the World Championships respectively. While bronze hadn't been the colour that Yuri had been expecting, he grudgingly had to admit that it was worth it for the look on JJ's face for being swept off the podium entirely.

And Yuri? Well, Yuri couldn't really complain.

For the first time in his life, he had people he truly considered friends. He had Otabek, who was a country away, but always willing to video chat and listen to Yuri's rants. He had a newfound family in Victor and Yuuri, who sometimes skirted the lines between siblings and acting in loco parentis, but generally to their mutual benefit. Even Potya was doing well, and was often found kneading on the couch, or curling into Makkachin's warm belly.

Yuri Plisetsky's senior debut had been unbelievable. His second season was off to a rocky start thanks to his body finally deciding it was time to grow and change, leaving him to curse as he relearned moves that months ago had been second nature. But he had Victor by his side, who'd been through all of this before, and was glad to offer support as a friend and mentor, even if not as an official coach. And he had Yuuri, who was wont to fret and offer hot pads and ice packs for the aches from bones changing shape and the pains from repeated falls as he tried to keep his body used to the feel of each movement.

This wasn't the life he'd imagined for himself a year ago. But with three medals to his name and more to come in the soon-approaching (Olympic!) season, it was certainly a life worth living.

* * *

In some ways, Victor Nikiforov was still an angel. Even if he didn't look the part in the way Yuri's four-year-old self imagined, he was more of a guardian angel now; ready to give advice even in the bleakest of times, and see Yuri through the trials and tribulations of being a young competitive skater in such an elite field.

The media attention still marked him as an idol; they hadn't let up on him one bit during his stint as a non-competitive coach, and they certainly weren't going to now that he was back and taking on what should have been an impossible workload.

His medals still made him a goal to live up to, and his forgetful nature certainly made him a piece of shit, even if he was man enough to make up for his mistakes once they were pointed out. (Seeing Victor naked on the roof of a Japanese castle, though, well, there were some mistakes that just couldn't be corrected, no matter what.) And, in ways that Yuri would have only dreamed of when he was little, Victor Nikiforov certainly did feel like family.

As he watched Victor skate across the ice, he wondered what else that man could be—what other roles he could possibly hold in Yuri's life.

And then Victor lifted Yuuri off the ice in a spin that definitely wasn't ISU ratified, and Yuri made a gagging noise. Maybe he didn't want to find out the answer, after all.


End file.
